Sweet readers, Thank you for being loyal followers of my website and encouragers of my 
writing career. The first week of the month I usually post a Flash Fiction story, but his month, the story is slightly over 1000 words, so in the interest of honesty, and y’all know if nothing, I’m honest, it is a Short, Short Story. Last year after picking up Libby, my daughter, from a field trip at 3:30 in the morning, we heard a favorite country song on the radio. I said that I wanted to turn it into a Flash Fiction story, and she suggested that I write it from the woman’s point of view. The song is in the man’s point of view. So after months of thinking about it, I finally did it. I hope you like it. Leave a comment on the website, Instagram, or Facebook if you know the song that inspired this story. Actually, there’s two, but one is minor. Big points if you figure out that one. And always, Sharing is Caring. Love y’all.
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Ella waved her alleged smartphone above her head through the sunroof of her Honda Civic, lifting her foot off the gas. Fields of green leafy plants waved back at her. They almost seemed to snicker at her—Atlanta girl lost in the country. When the bossy woman directed her off the interstate, it seemed like she was trying to help. The faster Ella could get to the beach on St. Simons Island, the better. But as she turned from one two-lane road to another, the signal lost strength.
The car rolled to a stop at the intersection in the middle of Nowhere, Georgia. She pulled the phone back in the car, but there was still no GPS signal. She collapsed over the steering wheel, blasting the horn.
“Whoa.” A deep voice slipped through the open roof.
Fantastic, now she was hearing voices. Ella lifted her head, out of the corner of her eye, something moved. A man reclined against the side of a flatbed truck full of vegetables. How had she missed him? His jeans hugged his legs, while the muscles of his upper body pushed against his green John Deere t-shirt. Mercy me, they sure do know how to grow them out here.
Pushing off the truck, he ambled over to her window with the most adorable lopsided grin. Her stomach fluttered as he got closer. She gazed at him, her breath becoming heavy. His blue eyes were like the sky on a clear spring day, and his tan skin was kissed by the sun.
A sharp tap to the window shocked her back to the present.
He wrinkled his brow, peering in at her.
Heat scrambled up her neck, burning her cheeks. She was such a fool, ogling at a perfect stranger, but he was like a fine piece of sculpture.
Dropping her fingers on the window button, she tried for a nonchalant smile as the glass separating them lowered.
“Good afternoon, ma’am.”
“Hiee.” Her fingers fluttered beside her face. She cut them a look. What was wrong with her?
“Don’t think you’re looking to buy any collards, so I’m guessing you’re lost.”
She nodded.
“GPS send you off the highway.”
“How’d you know?”
“Happens at least twice a week.” He spun his ball cap around backward, bent over, resting his folded arms in the open window. “Where you headed?”
“St. Simons Island. Girls weekend at the beach. Can’t wait to lounge all day beside the ocean. And I love to get lunch at Boulevard Café and blackened grouper from Crab Daddy’s.”
“You got it all planned.” He grinned.
“Yep.” Maybe if she kept to one-word answers, she wouldn’t babble on like a dreamy-eyed teenager. She twisted the knob for the air conditioner, dousing them in cold air.
He blinked as the gust from the vent, slapped into his impossibly long dark lashes. For Heaven’s sake, she was doing it again. She grasped the knob, twisting it. “S-sorry.”
“No problem, feels good. After sittin’ out here all mornin’ with nothin’ but a prayer for a breeze.” He met her gaze, letting it linger.
Click here to read the rest of the story.
Lately, it seems I’ve been writing a lot about weddings. So much can happen when we throw together family and friends. People come with all kinds of expectations and experiences. The book I just finished begins at a wedding, and this short, short story takes place at a wedding reception during the bouquet toss. As a child, I loved trying to catch the bouquet, and as a bride, I couldn’t wait to see who would catch my bouquet. Because I was one of the first of my friends to get married, there was quite a crowd when it came time. 
And I can happily report that my friend who caught my bouquet is happily married and so is the guy who caught the garter, although not to each other. (Too bad because that would have made a fun story.) They were so sweet to let me share this picture with you. Thanks Ronna and Rob.
The bouquet of white hydrangeas launched from the bride’s hands and soared into the air, ricocheting off the chandelier. As it plummeted toward Anna, she recoiled, shuddering. Two younger women in skimpy dresses dove in front of her with apparent disregard for maintaining any mystery about their lack of undergarments.
this week. We met at my first writer’s conference when I sat with her at the regional breakfast. She was also from Georgia and so sweet to a newbie like me. At this national conference, Hope was a big deal because she was a finalist for the unpublished author’s contest. I became an adoring fan right away. Never did I think we would end up being friends and in a critique group together. Last year, when I was a semi-finalist in the same contest, she contacted me with words of congratulations, and then we realized we had a mutual friend, Lindsey Brackett. Soon we were forming our own writers’ group. Hope’s words are inspiring and beautiful, and I know you will be blessed by them.
